


Rattlesnake, Babe

by Nevcolleil



Series: The Instincts [2]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Aaron Hotchner as Unsub, M/M, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-07 22:10:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11068155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nevcolleil/pseuds/Nevcolleil
Summary: I'm a rattlesnake, babe  //  I'm like fuel on fire  //  So if you're gonna get made  //  don't be afraid of what you've learned...





	Rattlesnake, Babe

"Do you always tape them?"

Aaron chuckles. And they could be doing anything right now. Having a drink out with the team; de-stressing on the jet at the end of a case. Every now and then everyone gathers at Garcia's for a movie marathon; once or twice Aaron has even barbecued. He's sitting next to Spencer on the couch, one ankle crossed over a knee, with a scotch glass resting lightly in one hand. 

But this isn't just anything, and they're completely alone. Jessica has Jack tonight, Aaron told Spencer casually, as he led them into the house, not bothering to turn on lights as he locked up behind them and guided Spencer upstairs. They walked with Spencer in front, having to count on Aaron's touch, at the small of his back, to find his way through the darkness. Aaron did that on purpose, Spencer instantly realized. To set the scene, to manage Spencer's perceptions. Spencer was momentarily irritated, almost asked Aaron to flick on the hall lights in the stairwell, but then realized that he'd have no excuse, outside the dark, for slowing his steps until he was all but pressed back against Aaron, his back to Aaron's front. He wouldn't have Aaron's breath at the back of his neck as they waded into the den, so he kept his mouth shut. 

Aaron sat Spencer on the couch. Lifted Spencer's bag from his side, unfastened the straps of Spencer's holster and removed his revolver without comment. 

" _Wh-what are you doing?_ " Spencer made a token protest, but Aaron didn't answer. Their voices sounded hushed in the near blackness; Spencer's breathless, Aaron's as if from far away, although Spencer knew he had only walked to the other end of the room as he heard a drawer open and close, the sounds of Aaron removing his own guns and stowing them away.

" _Would you like something to drink?_ " Aaron asked instead. Like immersing a guest in darkness and not only disarming but _hiding his weapon_ does not negate the necessity of other hospitalities. 

Spencer is not surprised that Aaron can find his way around his home in the dark without bumping into anything. He's not surprised, somehow, that Aaron put a glass of liquor in his hands even though he said, " _No, thank you_ ," when Aaron first offered it. 

He's a little surprised, not by Aaron's casual tone as he speaks, but by his own lack of emotional response when Aaron says, "You know how often we put people away because we managed to locate their trophies. Their documentation of their kills."

Then again, maybe nothing should surprise Spencer about himself anymore. He's worked side-by-side with a serial killer for a while now and done nothing about it. He got into the car with Aaron tonight, senses alive the whole time with the knowledge that he _should_ feel the danger of his situation even if he doesn't; he let Aaron take him into his home, into the darkness. Let Aaron remove and put away his means of defending himself should everything turn ugly (though, what does it matter? There's no way Spencer could _shoot_ \- He can't even think about it. Even now as he watches a recording of Aaron _beating a man_ unrecognizable.)

The tv flicked on just before Aaron settled onto the couch at Spencer's side, using a remote to start the dvd before setting it aside. Spencer took a burning mouthful of the drink in his glass as Aaron got comfortable, undeniably aware of Aaron's fingertips where they rested along the back on the couch, Aaron's arm stretched out behind him.

"Besides," Aaron continues, "I'm not a sexual sadist, Spencer. I don't need this to get off."

' _Bet it doesn't hurt_ ,' Spencer wants to say, but he can't find the gumption. They could be doing _anything_ right now. Watching this tape to profile a madman who enjoys physically assaulting murderers and rapists and killing them through a variety of methodologies. He could be giving 'Hotch' his geographical profile in three words, a snapshot of the Hotchner home with a caption: 'You are here.' Aaron could be asking Spencer for a psycholinguistic analysis of the things the 'Unsub' on the video says to his 'victim' as he kills him.

They could be kissing. The way they did in the car. Stretching out on this couch and-

Spencer can't keep his eyes still. Not knowing which direction he's pointed them is most forbidden. Hotch's face, in the blue light of the tv screen, looking fierce and darkly pleased and beautiful. His thumb, stroking the side of his scotch glass like he'd stroked Spencer's neck in the car (like he'd wiped away the blood that had splattered onto his cheek as he'd beat the man on the screen?) His crotch. The carnage on the television.

"Then why-"

Spencer knows before Aaron even answers him.

"This is for you."

Spencer really shouldn't be surprised anymore. He's always known, intellectually, that Aaron is capable of violence. Even _covetous_ of it. He can certainly see, just by looking at him, that Aaron could really hurt someone if he wanted to do it. He has the arms and the chest and the thighs of a man who could hurt without trying if there wasn't reason, cognizance, there to stay him. Angry, he looks as intimidating in a crisp dress shirt and pressed suit pants as any man in a mask. 

But _seeing_ Aaron be violent. Seeing him hurt someone... The cool expression on his face as blood spills over his fists. The measured patience in his movements as he unbuttons his shirt and sets it aside, mindless of the stark red handprints staining the white of it, and pulls back an arm again, curling fingers into his target's hair and holding the man steady for the inevitable blow.

How could Spencer know how he would react to _this_? 

How could _Aaron_?

At once it hits him... They aren't here to profile an "Unsub" while they watch him kill; they're here to profile _Spencer_. Or, more accurately, Aaron _has_ profiled Spencer. Has watched him watching Aaron. Has studied his face, perhaps, each time he's lifted a crime scene photo with which Aaron is intimately familiar. Has speculated and is now testing his hypotheses by watching Spencer observe the undistilled version of his work.

Spencer shifts, as if to rise, and of course this is when Aaron makes a move. The click of his glass against the surface of the nearby coffee table is the only warning. Spencer shifts (he can't remember setting his own drink aside; the walls feel suddenly closer, and the objects between them less tangible) and Aaron wraps one hand around Spencer's elbow, lays another across Spencer's knee. Grips and presses just tight enough that Spencer knows Aaron doesn't want him to move, and Spencer goes still.

"You think you should feel disgusted, horrified," Aaron says, as if they're still talking casually. As if Spencer isn't quivering under his hands, wrestling with a 'fight or flight' reflex (which, logically, is going to try and settle on 'flight' - seeing as this is Spencer Reid, one-hundred-and-fifty-pounds soaking wet, facing the full height and breadth of Aaron Hotchner.) 

"Hotch..."

"You think you should hate me. For doing this, for showing you this. For making you face this about me, face this about yourself. You think maybe you _should_ decide what to _do_ about me..."

"I _won't_. Aaron, I swear-"

Aaron's eyes pin him. Something new has entered his voice; not quite the low promise in the words the bloody Aaron on the video speaks like growls, but close. Aaron moves again; he throws a leg over both of Spencer's and suddenly he's straddling Spencer's lap. Like it's just been stoppered all this time, rather than nonexistent, fear floods through Spencer as he panics. Brings his hands up to shove at Aaron; finds them captured quickly, face-burningly _easy_ , by Aaron's own, stretched and held against the back of the couch to either side of his head.

And even still, Spencer can't be sure that the fear is _of_ Aaron and not simply _related_ to Aaron. To the new proximity between his hips and Spencer's. To the inexplicable pulsing in Spencer's groin. To the fact that the man on the video, crumpled at Aaron's feet, isn't screaming anymore. Isn't begging or cursing or even just moaning weakly. The only sound coming from the tv is of fists meeting unresisting flesh and Spencer _isn't_ disgusted, he _isn't_ horrified. If that were an innocent man, or woman, or _child_ on that tape... Spencer's stomach turns as he thinks of it; he is still himself. But he is also compartmentalizing. In a new and terrifying way. And he _shouldn't_. Should he? He _should_ be thinking of what to "do" about Aaron. About his sick-

But he isn't. _God_. He _isn't_. 

And he isn't even sure why there are tears coursing down his cheeks as his breath starts and stops in his chest, like an engine stuttering in and out of life, but where he might have taken them as confirmation of his shame, of the rightness in the burst of self-loathing that's just shot through him, Aaron's unaccusing voice, continuing to impart these truths without derision or censure... Aaron, nuzzling at the curve of his neck, gives Spencer pause. 

"But you don't," Aaron says into Spencer's skin. Follows the words with his tongue. He releases Spencer's wrists, but there's little Spencer can do with his hands now but let them fall to his sides. Let them settle atop Aaron's thighs. He can't flee the mouth raising sparks along his skin. He is almost impossibly hard underneath Aaron. Is entranced by Aaron's even breaths, becoming less even the longer Spencer remains, unresisting beneath him. The way Aaron's breath catches when Spencer gives in and lets his fingers curl around the hard muscle beneath his palms. "You don't feel disgusted by me... You aren't horrified, are you, Spencer?" Aaron punctuates every other word with a nip at Spencer's neck, moving towards his collarbone. 

There's no way Aaron can mistake Spencer's reactions to him for horror. His hands move down Spencer's chest and Spencer gasps. He grinds down into Spencer's lap so that he must feel the hard line of Spencer's erection. Aaron is himself impressively hard. Spencer can feel him as he shifts and rubs against Spencer's stomach. 

And then something gives in Spencer. Some half-realized fret that this, all of this except the video (which, whatever Aaron might say, is at its heart for him) is just for Spencer. That Aaron's profile of Spencer told him that seduction is the key to Spencer's compliance. Spencer wouldn't expect Aaron to sleep with someone just to manipulate them. Or to relieve some projected need stirred by violence. Aaron's right - he doesn't show the signs of a sexual sadist. But then again, several months ago, Spencer wouldn't have expected Aaron to film himself murdering a man so that he could share it with a prospective lover...

Spencer turns his head. Sees Aaron's half-lidded eyes, his parted lips. Thinks that word again ( _lover_ ) and believes. "I don't," he says. 

Aaron's eyes focus again, find him. Spencer swallows. "I- I probably should. I _know_ I should. But- But it's _you_. And I trust you, Hotch, and-"

"You don't hate me." It isn't a question. Aaron cups the side of his face. Slides his hand back and into Spencer's hair, curls his fingers in a way reminiscent of how he'd held that unsub still - on the video - as he beat him, but only just, his grip loose and suggestive rather than punishing. 

Spencer shivers. It may be twisted and wrong, but he can't deny it. "I couldn't." 

Aaron kisses him. Moans into his mouth when the slightest brush of his tongue against Spencer makes Spencer buck up beneath him. He grinds their bodies together and Spencer mewls as he forgets himself, tightens his fist until Spencer's scalp must be burning, but Spencer doesn't pull away.

"This is just the beginning, Spencer," he says against Spencer's lips. "I haven't even started."

Spencer doesn't know what he should say to that. But then, he seems to have abandoned 'should' a long time ago, so he says the first thing that comes to him.

"Good."

**Author's Note:**

> Title and lyrics taken from "Furr" by Blitzen Trapper.


End file.
